You know what I’ve been doing lately? Listening to music. I know, right?
Apparently, left to my own devices and devoid of outside influences, the stuff I choose to listen to is…pretty goddamn emo. Not that I’m downloading emo crap from iTunes or anything, it’s just that apparently the songs I like are all full of hopelessness and despair. And occasionally elephants.
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I’m late to the House…party? Boat? Anything I say here will be punny. Whatev, I started watching House because it was on Hulu and I require constant entertainment from my interwebs. And it’s crazy good, so now I’m all crack-addict about it. I downloaded the pilot from iTunes and watched it last night, in between Ellison’s patented Night Terrors of the Almost 3 ™.
The pilot was good. Sort of cliche, sort of overacted (I’ve been watching eps from season 5, so obviously the cast and the writing is tighter), an annoying amount of soft-focus. Seriously, people: backlighting and a little Vaseline on the lens is not going to make your cast more likable. It will, however, make me want to punch you in the face. Funny how that works.
If I’d tuned in for the first episode, I might not have been impressed enough to watch it again, save for one thing: at the end, House is explaining to one of his underlings that he hired her because she’s pretty, and that pretty girls who go into a demanding field like medicine are interesting because something’s wrong with them. He starts asking all these inappropriate questions about whether she was abused or molested as a child, and she replies with an ever-escalating series of indignant denials. House just looks at her and says, quietly, “But you are damaged, aren’t you.”
The girl flees. I’m hooked.
Apparently that’s what it takes to get me into a show: a deeply messed up protagonist with a thing for damaged goods. I’m so predictable.